Chapter 45 In which Pangloss realises that nobody can stop him

As February was drawing to a close Dr Pangloss had good reason to feel rather pleased with himself. In the face of great adversity, with all those moaning minnies writing to the paper every five minutes complaining about his redevelopment plans, he had managed to get all the developers down to a hotel to hear about how the grand sell-off would proceed - after Mr De Saveloy had bagged himself a whole beach and a good bit of the cliffs as well word soon got around that there would be rich pickings in Westphalia-on-Sea. But the most impressive piece of work was still the Mayoral Vision. He now realised that the very title was a stroke of genius by the consultants, as it gave the impression that he, Dr Pangloss, could actually see into the future. Of course, the reality was that Dr Pangloss couldn't see further than the end of his own nose, and he couldn't even see that far without his glasses. Yes, he thought, there had been a few worrying moments at the beginning when people said this isn't your vision, it's just a load of ill-thought out random ideas chucked together by some consultants who are now charging the earth, but Pangloss now realised that there was a lot of truth in the old saying about today's newspaper being tomorrow's chip paper. It had dawned on him that unless the locals actually formed themselves into some kind of formal opposition group they could write all the letters in the world about the problems of the little people and it wouldn't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Since the cat was well and truly out of bag regarding whose idea the Mayoral Vision actually was, Dr Pangloss had taken the bold step of actually naming Derek Poundsign of Complete Commercial Upgrades and New Town Solutions as the true visionary (he could look around a down-at-heel town and see six-figure sums where mere mortals could only see fast food wrappers blowing around the deserted streets) in his newspaper column. The Mayoral Vision was actually a Consultant's Dream, or, if you listened to some of the more vocal locals, the Residents' Nightmare, but it didn't really matter a jot - as long as these windbags put all their efforts into letters and blogs he could carry on picking up his hefty salary and flogging prime real estate for high-rise harbourside development. Phrases such as 'benefiting from stunning views across the Bay' and 'just a stone's throw away from Westphalia-on-Sea's own Sydney Opera House' starting coming to mind as his natural estate agent's impulses kicked in - he really was as happy as a pig in a traditional porcine environment.
The lesson that Pangloss had learnt from the consultants was worth every penny of the locals' money, and it was this: it's not what you say but how you say it. Derek Poundsign and his team had proved that you could dress up a ridiculous idea and sell it to a gullible public provided it was presented in the right way, and like religion, if the facts and figures didn't stack up under close scrutiny you had to rely on faith and some slick marketing tricks. Many people like to believe in some sort of heavenly paradise where they can spend their post-life retirement, and they are quite prepared to ignore all forms of logic in order to keep this idea alive, and so it was with the Mayoral Vision. The believers didn't want to hear that northerners were now heading to all-inclusive Caribbean destinations where you could get cheap 5-star accommodation and the sun shone all day. No, they wanted to believe that with a casino and a balloon they would rush back to Westphalia-on-Sea to sit on one of the beaches that was still open to the public. They didn't want to hear that everybody was spending their money in out-of-town shopping malls or on the internet these days. No, they wanted to believe that people could make a decent living selling scented candles and home-made fudge in quaint little shops if it was called 'niche retail', and that with a little positive mental attitude we could put up a roadblock on the information superhighway and divert everyone back to the town centre. As mad as it all seemed, there were plenty of people who were happy to believe that global warming and a lack of aviation fuel some time in the future would lead to the recreation of the tourism of the 1970s, and that the developers were a bunch of people who went round the country creating wonderful garden cities out of the goodness of their heart. Very few people seemed to realise that the grand plan would end up providing luxury apartments for sale as second homes, and that for most people the end result would be no change, except with a bit more concrete to look at.
With thoughts of his invincibility swishing about his head it was an emboldened mayor who picked up the phone to councillor Norwegian-Blue.
'Ah, Mr Mayor, I trust you have made a decision on the budget for the Civic Chairman by now?' said the obsequious Norwegian-Blue.
'I have indeed,' replied Pangloss. 'The budget stays the same.'
'But we need to make serious cuts, this is a lot of money we're wasting. You were required to fully consider my recommendation,' spluttered Norwegian-Blue.
'I have fully considered it, and my answer is no budget cuts. Look, we need someone to turn up in all those chains at church fetes and school pantos - I'm buggered if I'm going to do it.'
'But £125,000 is a heck of a lot of money.'
'Nonsense. It's a bloody bargain compared to what the consultants cost. Anyway if you're so worried about money get a bloody move on with the parking meters. The sooner we get those in place the sooner we can start taking more cash off everyone. I'm getting fed up having to pussyfoot around all the time.'
'This parking meter scheme doesn't exactly seem popular, you know.'
'Popular? popular? Mussolini wasn't popular, but he got the trains running on time. Now listen to me. I'm in charge, and if I say we're going to waste an eighth of a million pounds on having a Civic Chairman then that's what we're going to do, so stick that in your Overview and Scrutiny Board pipe and smoke it.'
With that Pangloss slammed the phone down; at last he was actually starting to enjoy his job again.